


Speed Kills:  Tale of a Breakdown

by TheFlamingDragonfly



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlamingDragonfly/pseuds/TheFlamingDragonfly
Summary: Johnny is involved in a terrible car accident.  His guilt causes a mental breakdown.





	1. Chapter 1

Speed kills. Johnny's sprint to the grotesquely twisted car ensured he was the first to reach the victims, but it also meant that he was alone when he looked inside the wreckage.

Speed kills. The car had been speeding down the highway, forced by circumstance into a race that placed it the path of danger, and now it lay dead and mutilated, with the true terror hidden deep within its bowels. Johnny's quickness, so admired in high school, so many times necessary as a rescuer, now brought him face to face with a nightmare.

And as he looked inside the wreckage, Johnny's gut wrenched with the knowledge that he had indirectly been the cause of the carnage. He had forced the car to travel faster and faster, until the accident brought the fiasco to a halt. And now he was about to reap the harvest of his speed, falling headlong into a terrifying dream that would tear his life apart…


	2. Chapter 2

_Warning for violence._

Late for work again, Johnny sped down the 405. He drove faster than normal, rationalizing that ten minutes late was better than fifteen. Zipping from lane to lane, he maneuvered around the heavy traffic, driving faster and more recklessly than normal. Glancing at his watch, Johnny swore under his breath. Ten minutes late and counting. Cap would have his hide. Latrine duty for at least a month. He moved his Land Rover faster, coming up on a Toyota in the left lane. A pickup traveled in the right lane, effectively blocking Johnny.

The Toyota steadfastly remained in the left lane, its driver either unaware or not worried about the increasingly irate driver directly behind. Johnny moved closer, attempting to pressure the driver to move ahead of the pickup and into the right lane. Muttering under his breath, he rationalized his behavior as being the result of his anticipation of Cap's tirade when he showed up late.

"Come on…come on," he urged, moving ever closer to the bumper of the Toyota. "Get out of the way."

His pressure tactic worked. The driver of the Toyota pushed the little car faster, at last drawing even with the pickup. Little by little the car passed the truck, with Johnny's Rover directly behind.

Just ahead, a semi rumbled, its load of tin sheets bouncing because of the truck's speed. Johnny briefly wondered at the safety of the load, but at that moment the Toyota ducked hurriedly into the right lane behind the semi. Johnny floored the accelerator.

He saw the tin flying from the back of the truck a moment too late. The Toyota lay directly in the path of a wildly flying sheet of tin, and in the instant that it took Johnny to realize that it was going to slice into the Toyota, the tiny car swerved crazily. Johnny slammed on his brakes, nearly colliding with his windshield because of the drastic deceleration, his Rover missing the careening Toyota by mere inches. The Toyota skidded across the pavement, then slammed with sickening force into the abutment. The speed of the crash caused the small car to literally bounce against the concrete pillar before coming to a stop some yards from the abutment.

Johnny managed to stop the Rover just beyond the wreck. He sat still for a miniature eternity, dazed and frightened beyond what he could handle for the moment, then his senses cleared and he scrambled from his vehicle. Dimly aware of the confused mass of cars that either stopped or crawled by, he dashed for the crushed Toyota. Reaching the car, he urgently searched for a gap in the wreck that would allow him to see the victims. He gingerly poked his head through a partially crushed window, carefully reaching in with his right hand. A small arm lay just inside the door, the rest of the body concealed by the seat. Johnny touched the arm, then reached for the wrist to check for a pulse. The arm moved easily—too easily. Johnny jerked back, nauseated to see the limb roll loose, completely severed from the body. He swallowed hard, then moved back in, grasping the shirt in an attempt to pull the victim closer.

The body abruptly rolled toward him, and Johnny gasped as he realized that the victim had been decapitated. He felt his legs grow weak, and he partially collapsed against the car. He lost his grip and fell heavily, only to realize that the head of the child rested on the ground just under the car. His hand unwittingly rested against the cheek.

With a strangled cry Johnny scrambled to his feet. He retreated a step, then stopped, unable to move, to speak, to comprehend. The carnage gripped his vision, tenaciously tearing into his mind, refusing to release him from the horror. He felt as though he were drowning under the weight of the image, until his gasps for air caused him to double over, his gut churning. Tears mixed with his sweat as he vomited, and too many seconds passed before he was able to wipe his face and straighten up.

Someone asked him if he was all right, but he could not answer. A roaring filled his ears, and fuzzy dots floated before his eyes. I'm going to faint, he thought, and indeed he did stagger against a man standing next to him. He felt a strong grip around his shoulders steadying him, but the dots grew larger, and the roaring grew louder, and he dimly realized that he was falling.

"Hey...you okay?"

Johnny heard the voice, but he said nothing. He did not make a conscious decision to ignore the question; rather, he simply accepted the fact that he would not respond. He sat up, briefly wondering why he was lying on the ground, but just as quickly relegating the question to a place far away, in a dark area where he didn't have to worry or think. He only existed.

"The ambulance is on the way. Everything's okay."

The voice again. Johnny felt a twinge of annoyance. Leave me alone. He lifted his head and tried to see the owner of the voice, but his eyes refused to focus, and all he saw was a blur. Just as well.

"He's really freaked out. I don't think he's hurt, though."

"Just let him sit there. Let the paramedics take care of him."

_Who are they talking about?_ The voices irritated him. _Why won't they go away?_

The sound of sirens replaced the voices. He squinted past the fuzzy figures and saw masses of red. An engine and a squad. Of course. The accident. They needed to take care of the bodies...

A sudden stabbing pain ripped through his gut. He threw himself over and once again vomited onto the pavement, heaving despite the emptiness of his stomach. He felt an arm across his back, but was unable to acknowledge the comforting gesture as he continued to retch.

At last the nausea abated enough for him to wipe his mouth and sit back. He looked up to see Cap kneeling next to him.

"Okay, pal?" Cap asked gently.

Johnny shuddered but said nothing. Cap nudged his arm. "Johnny?"

_I hear you, Cap. I just…can't answer you._

He watched with dazed detachment as Cap straightened and gestured toward someone out of his range of vision.

"Chet, get Roy, will you?"

"Sure, Cap."

Johnny lowered his head, attempting to block out the sights and sounds that so bothered him. He heard too many noises, saw too many sights, and he wanted nothing more than to fade away from it all, to sink into oblivion.

"Hey, Johnny. You okay?"

The familiar voice. Roy. Kneeling beside him just like Cap had done before.

"Johnny? Can you hear me?"

He felt Roy gently shake his shoulder. "Johnny? Were you hurt at all? Were you involved in the accident?"

He wanted to answer, or at least a part of him did, but the majority of his consciousness screamed at him to be still, to say nothing, to feel nothing.

Far away, he heard Roy's lowered voice. "Let's contact Rampart. I don't think he's hurt, but…"

"Right." Dwyer's voice. Why was Dwyer here?

The biophone. Roy had the biophone set up.

"What are you doing?"

Roy looked up at Johnny's words. "Are you okay?"

"Why are you calling Rampart?" Johnny's voice rose. "They're dead!"

"I know, I was calling—"

Johnny abruptly rose to his feet. "They're dead!" he shouted. "Why are you calling in? You can't do anything! What's the matter with you?"

Roy raised his hands in an effort to calm his partner. "Okay, okay! Everything's all right. Why don't you sit down and let me check you out, okay? I just want to make sure you're okay."

Johnny shook his head. "No, this isn't right. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have looked in there." He spun and fled.

Roy hesitated for only a moment before following. Johnny ran erratically, seemingly without knowing where he was going, and Roy easily caught up with him.

"Johnny, come back to the squad with me." Roy found that he was able to steer Johnny in the direction he wanted him to go, for the younger man had reverted to his former passive silence.

On the way back to the squad, the men met Cap. Roy paused before him.

"I'm taking him to Rampart."

Cap nodded his agreement. "We're finishing up here. Do you need the ambulance?"

Roy glanced at Johnny. "I think we'd better, just to be safe."


	3. Chapter 3

He knew that he was going to Rampart, and the thought briefly angered him. They would make him talk about it, and there was no way he was sharing his thoughts. Not now.

Maybe not ever.

Roy's face hovered over his. He wanted to reassure his partner, to let him know that he was all right, but his throat seemed to be sealed shut. He blinked in irritation as Roy once again shone the penlight into his eyes.

The ambulance bounced to a halt, and he tensed as the gurney slid into the warm air of the entrance. Now begins the interrogation.

Brackett. Who else?

"Exam Two," Brackett instructed, following the gurney into the room. "Roy, come on in."

Johnny lay still as he was transferred to the examination table, allowing the orderlies to do all the work. He had absolutely no desire to move.

"Johnny? Can you hear me?"

_Leave me alone. Please._

"How are you feeling? Johnny? Can you answer me?"

He could see Brackett's frown, and he felt regret at having to hurt a man whom he respected deeply, but how could he explain the emptiness that had taken over his soul?

"Fill me in," he heard Brackett say. He listened, but with little interest, his eyes closed and his breathing slow and deep.

"Apparently, Johnny witnessed a bad accident—no survivors. He didn't show up for work this morning, and now we know why." Roy paused to swallow. "When we got to the accident scene, Johnny was sitting near the wrecked car. A witness said that Johnny had gotten sick after seeing the victims, and that he nearly passed out. When I got to him, it was like he was in shock. He didn't acknowledge my presence until I touched his arm, then he seemed to be in a panic mode. After that he closed up until I tried to call here. He questioned my calling in since the victims were dead. He was confused but passive. When I took his vitals, they were all a bit elevated, and he was no longer talking. Like now," he finished, nodding toward the silent paramedic.

Brackett: "What exactly did he see?"

Roy: "Ah, a decapitation. A sheet of tin was thrown from a truck. It…hit the passenger."

"I see."

Dixie's voice: "Johnny, I'm going to take your vitals."

Brackett: "Johnny? Open your eyes."

No response. Brackett took his penlight and shone it into Johnny's eyes. "Pupils equal and reactive," he muttered to no one in particular. "Johnny, do you know where you are?" He gently shook his patient's arm. "Can you talk to me? Johnny?"

Finally, Johnny's eyes blinked, the pupils beginning to focus on his surroundings. "What?" he whispered.

"Do you know where you are?" Brackett repeated.

"They didn't make it, Doc." Johnny's voice was strangely breathless.

Brackett exchanged glances with Roy. "I know, Johnny. I know."

Johnny abruptly sat up. "I need to go," he said.

"Hold on, now," Brackett pushed him back. "I need to get some answers from you first. Do you know where you are?"

Johnny looked confused. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Because I'm concerned about you," Brackett replied gently. "Now can you tell me where you are?"

"Sure, Doc." Johnny's face took on a calm acceptance. "I'm in hell."

Dr. Brackett decided to keep Johnny at Rampart overnight as a precaution, having been unable to get much more than monosyllabic responses for his questions. Toward evening, he called in a psych consult.

Dr. Gould worked infrequently at Rampart, having a busy private practice, but he was often called in when firemen were involved. A former firefighter himself, Gould found himself in a unique position to understand and empathize with the men he saw.

Johnny's eyes never flickered as Dr. Gould entered his room. He was aware that someone new had come in, but he really didn't care.

"John Gage?" The stranger stretched out an ignored hand. "I'm Dr. Gould. In case you haven't heard of me yet, I'm a psychiatrist."

"Brackett call you in?"

"Yes he did."

"Sorry about that."

"Why are you sorry?"

For the first time since Gould had entered the room, Johnny looked at him. "Because there's nothing you can do," he stated.

"Oh, I don't know. You might be surprised at my skills."

Johnny decided to play along. "Okay. So what do you want to hear about first? My childhood? Or should I just plunge into the accident?"

Gould smiled. "Why don't we just get to know each other first. You're a paramedic?"

"Yeah."

"Got a good partner?"

"The best."

"That's important. When I was a firefighter, I worked with guys that read each other's minds. I mean, we knew everything about each other. It was fantastic."

Johnny felt his interest growing. "You were a firefighter?" he found himself asking despite himself.

"Three years. Before medical school. Before I grew up," he added with a grin.

"Oh." Johnny lapsed back into his malaise.

"So what happened this morning, John?"

"An accident."

"Car accident?"

"Yeah."

"Were you involved?"

"You could say that."

"Hurt?"

"No."

"So why are you here, John?"

Johnny's face turned red. "Because I cracked up!" he snapped. "Isn't that what they all told you? That I lost it? A seasoned paramedic barfing all over the place…couldn't even answer questions…sitting like a zombie."

Gould raised his hand. "Relax, John. I want you to tell me what you are feeling, not what you think others are thinking or saying about you. Can you do that for me?"

Johnny wiped his face. "To be honest, Doc, I don't know what I'm feeling right now."

"Okay. No problem."

"Sorry about jumping on you."

"Hey, no problem. I'm used to it." Gould smiled again. "How about this, John? We'll give you some time off, maybe two weeks, and you'll come in to see me twice a week to begin with. We'll do some serious talking then. It's usually easier once some time has passed." He nodded in confirmation and left before Johnny could say anything in protest.

The next morning Roy drove to Rampart to take Johnny home. Because A-shift was off-duty, Roy felt that he had enough time to be able to do more for Johnny besides just taking him back to his apartment.

Johnny was waiting for Roy, standing at the window with his back to the door. He turned and smiled as Roy walked in.

"How are you feeling today?" Roy asked, relieved to see Johnny appearing relaxed and calm.

Johnny shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"That's good." Roy paused, the silence awkward. It was Johnny who broke through.

"Thanks…for taking me home."

"Oh, no problem. I don't mind." Roy again stopped, uncomfortable. "Uh, about yesterday…"

Johnny involuntarily shuddered, then glanced at Roy, hoping his partner had not seen his reaction. He was met by Roy's understanding eyes.

"Hey, it's okay. We don't have to talk about it now."

Johnny abruptly jumped from the bed. He could not bear to face Roy, not with tears so near. He went to the window, desperate to change the mood. "I—ah—I can't leave yet. Haven't got my discharge papers yet." He was too aware of his wavering voice.

Roy cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Well, maybe we can speed things up."

Johnny nodded, still not facing his partner. "Sounds good."

"Okay. Well, let's get out of here. Maybe we can find Dix."

Johnny smiled, relieved. "It's worth a try," he said, glad his voice was no longer shaking.

They left the room and hovered around the desk, hoping that Dixie would take the hint. The busy nurse finally got everything in order, but just as they were about to leave, she caught Johnny's arm.

"Dr. Brackett wants to see you before you leave," she said. "I'll get him for you."

Johnny grimaced. "Oh man! I just want to get outta here!"

"Sorry, Johnny. I guess you're trapped."

Kel came striding down the hall. "Leaving us already?" he asked, watching the dark-haired paramedic closely.

"Uh, yeah."

Kel steered him into the relative privacy of behind the desk. "Johnny, Dr. Gould has recommended that you take a two week leave of absence and see him twice a week."

Johnny threw up his hands. "Doc, I'm fine. Really. All I want to do is go back to work. That's all I need."

Kel's eyebrows raised at the vehemence of Johnny's words. "John, you came in here yesterday nonresponsive and nearly catatonic. In my medical opinion, you are in need of counseling. Now whether you like it or not, that's exactly what you're going to get."

Johnny's lips pursed. "I told you I'm fine! I don't need to miss work, and I don't need to talk to any shrink!" He pushed past Kel and stormed for the exit.

Johnny sat sullenly, his lean form slouched in the deep chair. Dr. Gould sat opposite, an empty pad of paper lying in his lap.

"So you have nothing to say, John?" the psychiatrist asked, his voice kind but probing.

Johnny shrugged, refusing to meet the other's eyes.

"It's difficult to work out a problem if you don't speak. I don't read minds very well."

"I don't have a problem," Johnny replied, lifting his eyes fleetingly.

"Okay. We've got something to work with. You don't believe you have a problem. Is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"And yet you sit in my office. Does this strike you as strange?"

"I was forced to come here." Johnny did nothing to hide the contempt in his voice.

"Who made you come here?"

Johnny sighed. "You know who made me come, and you know why I'm here, so why don't we cut out the bull."

Dr. Gould leaned forward. "Okay. No bull. You're here because you were part of something that you haven't been able to handle. A horrible accident. One that sent you to the hospital for an overnight stay." He sat back, smiling with eyes that bored directly into Johnny's face. "And now you get to talk to me for awhile."

Johnny shrugged. "Lucky me," he mumbled.

Dr. Gould smiled. "I would like to think so." He waited and was finally rewarded with a small smile from Johnny. "There, I knew you weren't such a bad guy."

Johnny relaxed slightly. "I don't have anything against you, Doc. I just don't want to be here."

"I can understand that. The stigma of psychology, being crazy, men in white coats, padded rooms. I could go on."

"Please don't."

"So what happened at that accident scene, John?"

Johnny sighed. "I know the routine. I tell you what I saw and what I was feeling, and you tell me I need to get on with my life."

"Is it really that simple, John?"

A sudden tremor swept Johnny's body. He clasped his hands tightly together between his trembling knees, struggling to control his emotions. "No," he finally whispered. "It's not simple. Not at all."

"What did you see?"

Johnny clasped tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. "I still see it," he said in a tiny voice.

"What is it?"

Johnny suddenly jumped to his feet. "Nothing," he said, his voice scratchy. "I don't want to talk about this. I need to go." He headed for the door, and Dr. Gould quickly stood up.

"Do you like your job, John?" he asked quickly.

Johnny stopped, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turned to look at Dr. Gould. "Yes," he stated.

"Then talk to me. Because if you don't, you're going to crash and burn."

A long pause. Johnny stared at the floor, his hand clenched on the knob. Finally he met Dr. Gould's gaze.

"Then I guess I'll crash," he said quietly. He opened the door and slipped out of the office.

He sat in his Land Rover, mulling over the doctor's words. You're going to crash and burn. Crash and burn.

_Why can't I talk to him? What's wrong with me? I've talked to shrinks before. Job stress is common in this profession. I say the right things, the shrink writes it all down, and Cap gets a good report. So why couldn't I play the game with Gould?_

_Because this time it's different. That kid…_

He covered his face with his hands, but the image refused to disappear. Just like before, when he lay in the exam room at Rampart, dimly aware of Brackett's anxious hovering. That little girl's face, still warm, so recently alive and beautiful, rolling horribly from his hand.

And he knew that he had snapped.

In that moment, everything changed. He changed. His world changed.

And now this doctor, this shrink, presumed to tell him that he needed to talk about it. As though that would do any good.

Nothing would help now. Everything had changed at that accident on the 405.


	4. Chapter 4

_Over here! She's in here! Can't you hear me? I need some help here!_

_There's nothing you can do, Johnny. You're wasting your time._

_But it's my fault! If I hadn't been driving so fast—_

_She's dead, Johnny. Her head's been cut off._

_I can help her! I have to try! Please!_

_Blood…everywhere…glistening, sticky, plastering his arms and his face…_

_I've got to help her! Someone help me, please!_

_Slipping in the mud, dirt and blood intermingled, falling…falling…_

_No! God, no! I didn't mean to make her crash!_

_Of course you did. You were late. You were in a hurry. Now look what you've done. You've killed them. Too fast. Too fast. And now they're dead._

_I can fix it. Just let me try!_

_More blood. Dripping…dripping…faster and faster._

_See what you did? Look at that little girl. Look at her. Look! Look!_

_No! I didn't mean to kill her!_

_Look! Look! Look!_

_No!_

Johnny awoke with a start, coughing and choking. He lurched from his bed, attempting to make it to the bathroom in time, but he vomited just outside the bedroom. Again and again he felt his gut lurch, and before he finished tears freely ran down his cheeks.

After cleaning up the mess, he aimlessly wandered through the dark apartment, finally ending up in front of the TV. An ancient movie flickered on the screen, serving to keep him awake for nearly half an hour before his eyelids lowered and he once again entered the hell of sleep.

He drove aimlessly, needing to get out of his apartment. Time constraints should have dictated his driving; his second appointment with Dr. Gould started in less than half an hour, but he studiously avoided thinking of it.

The appointment meant talking about the accident. Remembering…

He didn't want to remember…

They hurt.

The memories hurt so deeply…to the point of physical illness. He was enduring two or three bouts of vomiting every day and night. He knew that he was risking dehydration, but he also knew that he could not go to Dr. Brackett. Too many questions.

A sudden increase in the speed of the cars he traveled with brought him back to his surroundings. He had entered the 405 without realizing where he was going, at least consciously, and now he was rolling along with the rest of the traffic.

The 405. A speeding Land Rover, the driver playing a deadly game with another car…and then the horror begins.

His heart beating an uncontrollably fast rhythm in his chest, Johnny's breaths came in pants, and his palms slid on the steering wheel in a glistening layer of sweat.

The accident…the girl.

And there, in the distance, the abutment.

How had he ended up here? The abutment, stolid and severe, standing in testimony of a former tragedy.

_I can't be here!_

Somehow he passed the scene, swallowing convulsively and striving to slow his racing heart. He felt his entire body shudder, his muscles tensing in waves. With tremendous effort he pulled over, threw the Rover into neutral, and dropping his head onto the steering wheel sobbed without really knowing why.

"John. You're late."

Dr. Gould stood aside to allow the paramedic room to come into the office. He immediately noticed Johnny's puffy eyes and slouched posture, and as they both took seats he did nothing to hide his scrutiny of his patient.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"I have no choice," Johnny replied shortly.

"Don't you?"

Johnny shot Gould a fierce glance. "You know as well as I do that I have to be here if I want to go back to work."

Gould leaned back. "Why are you late, John?"

"I just am."

"No particular reason?"

Johnny sighed impatiently. "I was driving around, okay? Or is that not allowed?"

"Why were you crying?"

Johnny quickly turned away. "Just because."

"Are you in the habit of crying just because?"

Johnny looked over at Gould and glared at the smiling psychiatrist. "No!"

"So why were you crying?"

"You just don't quit, do you?"

"Nope."

Picking at a piece of lint from the arm of the chair, Johnny finally began to talk. "I keep seeing her. The little girl. From the accident. I see her constantly."

Dr. Gould waited for him to continue, but Johnny said no more. "She was badly injured?"

Johnny laughed, one brief, sardonic note. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Was she dead?"

"Yeah."

"Did you try to help her?"

Johnny stiffened, still not meeting Dr. Gould's eyes but beginning to squirm under the intense scrutiny. "I don't want to talk about it," he finally said quietly but with the beginnings of controlled panic.

"You tried to help her, didn't you?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" John said desperately.

"I think you do, John. I think you want to scream and shout and throw things, but you're holding back with everything you've got. Let it go, John. I know you want to get over this nightmare. You want closure, but you don't know how to get it. I want to help you."

"You don't know anything about me," Johnny retorted. "You don't know what I want or what I've been doing."

"I think I do. In fact, I think you're scared right now because I've hit the nail on the head. I've told you exactly how you feel and it's scaring you to death."

Johnny got to his feet. With new determination he walked to the door, half- expecting Dr. Gould to try to stop him.

"I understand your fear, John," the doctor said, still fixing Johnny with his steady gaze. "I can see your burden, but running away won't help. You need to accept that something very bad happened to you. Will you admit to needing help?"

Johnny stood straighter, and for the second time during the session managed to look Dr. Gould in the eye.

"I'm not scared, and I don't need this. The only reason I'm here is because they're making me come."

"That's what you keep saying. I don't believe it."

"Yeah, well, you can go to hell, too." Johnny stepped from the room, leaving the door open.

 

Johnny lay in bed, desperately tired but terrified of the never-ending dreams that plagued his every sleeping moment. His stomach churned, and he knew that the vomiting would start soon. The vomiting and the dreams—he almost didn't know which was worse.

He rolled onto his left side, hoping to put off the inevitable trip to the bathroom, but the nausea only worsened, and he flung back the sheet and rushed to the toilet. Several minutes later he returned to his bed, exhausted beyond belief but fighting sleep with every shuddering breath.

_Johnny! My God, what have you done?_

_I didn't mean to! I was late to work…_

_Roy standing before him, hands stretched out, pleading with his eyes…_

_Look what you did! How can I forgive you for this?_

_Roy…please…don't turn away from me!_

_But Roy disappeared, fading like mist, and Johnny stood alone…_

"So are you ready to go back to work tomorrow, John?"

Johnny shrugged. "Should I be?" he countered.

Dr. Gould laughed. "Turning the tables, are we? Well, I think we've made progress, albeit not as much as I would have liked. So I ask again, are you ready to go back?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to tell me anything more about the accident?"

"No."

Gould raised his eyebrows. Johnny had steadfastly refused to discuss the events of the accident, preferring to stay with generalities about his emotions. Gould had noticed his patient's drawn, pale appearance, but inquiries into Johnny's health had also drawn no real information.

"You're going to have to face it sooner or later, John. Why not now?"

"Why not later?" Johnny smiled as he spoke, having developed a genuine liking of the doctor.

"Wouldn't you like to get it off your chest before you go back to work?"

Johnny impatiently ran his hand through his hair. "Work is what I need, not sitting here gabbing."

Gould chuckled. "Well, you realize that your captain can recommend your return to our little gab sessions if he thinks you need them."

"He won't. I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine, but I believe you're capable of returning to work. I'd like you to continue our sessions on a voluntary basis, though."

Johnny stood up. "I don't know. Maybe. Let me get back to work and then we'll see, okay?"

Dr. Gould also stood up. "Okay," he replied, holding out his hand. "Be well, John," he said, taking the other's hand in a firm grip. The paramedic met his eyes.

"I'll be fine. Really." He left the office, desperately wishing that he was as confident in his sanity as he was letting on.

The day of Johnny's return to work dawned with a cold, windy rain. Roy stood at his locker, changing out of his damp clothes into his uniform. Hearing steps behind him, he turned to see Johnny dash into the locker room.

"Hey, Johnny, you're not late!" Roy greeted.

The younger man didn't even spare him a glance. "Yeah, well, can't be too careful," he said, hurriedly removing his civilian clothes. He finished changing without a further word, then sped from the locker room. Roy watched him, sighing with weariness as though ending his shift rather than just beginning it.

Johnny rushed into the kitchen, where Marco and Chet sat at the table.

"Hey, Gage, it's about time you decided to pick up some of your slack," Chet observed. "How long do you think Roy can stand Brice?"

"Yeah, that's really cruel and unusual punishment," Marco added.

Johnny poured himself a cup of coffee. "Ah, it's the powers that be," he said, joining them at the table. "Who am I but a lowly paramedic? I get told where to go and what to do."

Roy and Mike came in. "Gentlemen, come in!" Johnny called, sweeping his arm toward them. "Join the party!"

Marco raised his eyebrows. "A coffee party?" he asked.

"Only the best," Johnny replied, pausing to take a drink of his coffee.

Roy studied his partner, slowly sipping his coffee. He was too frenetic, too jumpy, even for Johnny.

Chet got up and sauntered over to Johnny. He made a show of palpating the paramedic's head. Johnny jerked his head away.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Well, you went to the shrink. I just wanted to see if your head had been reduced."

Johnny glared at him. "Chet...shut up!"

Chet merely chuckled as he returned to his seat at the table. "What, Gage? Can't a man satisfy his curiosity? I mean—"

Just at that moment, the klaxons announced the first run of the shift, a call for the squad. Roy and Cap rushed to the apparatus room, with Cap taking down the information and Roy climbing into the squad.

"Squad 51, KMG-365," Cap said into the microphone. He handed the slip to Roy, who turned expectantly to the passenger side of the squad…which was still empty.

"Johnny? Where are you?" Roy glanced at Cap, who ran back to the kitchen to find Johnny still sitting at the table.

"John! You've got a call!"

Johnny looked up at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, pushing his chair back and walking out of the kitchen. Cap followed, halfway worried that Johnny would not make it to the squad.

Roy waited for Johnny to climb into the squad, then handed him the destination slip. "What happened? Forget what to do?"

Johnny didn't answer, and Roy pulled out of the station.

Their destination was a ramshackle house that had been condemned for quite some time. The windows and doors had once been covered with plywood, but various vagrants had pulled most of the wood off. Vince stood before an open door.

"She's inside. Looks like a suicide. Pretty bloody."

"Right, Vince." Roy entered the dark house first, followed by Johnny and Vince.

A heavy, musty smell hung throughout the house. Johnny suddenly felt as though he was suffocating, so dense was the odor. He stopped, fighting the wild urge to flee from the house, desperate to join Roy and Vince.

 _You have a job to do! Get with it!_ Breathing through his mouth, he inched his way through the hall.

He arrived in the small bathroom and found Roy examining a prone figure on the floor. Johnny stared at the girl, paralyzed. She lay motionless, her white face fixed in a blank gaze, blood covering a substantial portion of her body and the floor. A paring knife lay next to her, and both of her wrists gaped with congealed blood. Johnny could not move, could not touch her, could not breathe, could not see anything except her face.

Roy glanced up as Johnny finally made it into the room, and he knew immediately that his partner had frozen. Hiding his dismay, he hoped that Johnny would snap out of it.

"She's been gone for awhile. See," he said, pointing at the large amount of blood that covered the tile floor. "She knew how to do it." He stared down at the girl, unwilling to meet Johnny's eyes. "So sad," he murmured.

Johnny suddenly started. "Why are we here?" he demanded. "She's dead! Why are we responding to a dead girl?" He backed away, slamming into the wall with enough force to momentarily stun himself. He grabbed his head with his hands, and Roy jumped to him.

"You okay?" he asked, pulling at Johnny's hands.

Johnny stared at him, his face contorted with more than the pain from the blow to his head. The girl's face, the eyes, the slack mouth. Suddenly he couldn't remember where he was. The accident? A suicide? _Where am I?_ "I can't be here! Let me out!" He shoved past Roy into Vince, who quickly restrained him.

"Hey! Settle down!" he said, confused.

Johnny started to struggle, but then he abruptly stopped, his body sagging against the policeman's. "I'm sorry, Vince," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Vince replied, staring curiously at the paramedic. "Roy…?"

"I've got him," Roy said, stepping up to take Johnny's arm. "C'mon, let's go."

Johnny wiped his face with trembling hands. "Yeah, right," he said, his voice ragged. "I've gotta get out of here." _I'm losing my mind! Roy knows it. He's going to tell Cap…what am I going to do?_

Having already called in the authorities, Roy sat in the squad waiting for Johnny to climb in. His partner seemed to be stalling, fiddling with the equipment and taking an inordinate amount of time to find his way into the cab.

"Hey Johnny!" he finally called. "You planning on joining me sometime this century?"

The passenger side door opened, and Johnny slid in, his expression sheepish. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Roy studied him. "No problem. I just don't want to hang around here, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah." Johnny stared at his fingernails, then pretended to be engrossed with the urban landscape. _Help me, Roy. Don't you know I'm losing it?_ Roy waited, continuing to watch for some opening, some opportunity to scan his partner's mood, but Johnny steadfastly refused to look in his direction. Roy sighed.

"You okay?" Roy felt like he had asked this same question a million times, and he was sure it was beginning to sound hopelessly lame, but eloquence escaped him.

Johnny glanced over at Roy. "Yeah. It just got to me." He took refuge in the familiar response, not wanting to divulge too much.

Roy continued to look at him, and Johnny felt his face flush. "I'm fine," he said, gesturing toward himself. "Let's just get out of here."

Roy grunted a reply, and they left the scene. Johnny closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to force the growing panic he felt in his chest to retreat. Roy was close…very close, and his heart pounded in anticipation of the questions.

"Johnny—"

"Roy—"

He heard Roy sigh, and he knew that his continuing denial would not be accepted. "Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, I'm not...I'm not okay." He felt Roy's eyes on him as they stopped for a red light.

"I know," his partner replied quietly.

Johnny nearly laughed. Of course he knew. "It's just..." His voice caught, and he quickly looked out the window, desperate to control his emotions.

"That was some accident that you saw." Roy spoke softly, with little inflection. "I don't think I've ever seen one that bad. Especially a kid. That's rough." He paused, giving Johnny time to compose himself. "It's understandable that someone would have a rough time getting over something like that."

"I think..." Johnny's voice held a slight quiver. "I may need...some more help with this one." He ran his hand through his hair. "I keep seeing that girl," he added in a whisper.

Roy glanced at him. "Have you—uh—told the doctor?"

Johnny shrugged, even though Roy's eyes remained on the road.

"Well?"

"Kind of. Well, maybe. Something about it."

Roy shook his head. "Johnny, how can he help you if you aren't honest and open with him? You're only hurting yourself."

"Well, it's not that easy!" Johnny replied defensively. "I mean, it's not easy to open up to someone you hardly know." His voice grew softer. "He asks all these questions, and he wants to know about everything."

"So tell him. That's his job, to help you."

"I—"

Johnny's reply was cut off by the radio, and their conversation was replaced by a run for a heart attack victim.


	5. Chapter 5

That night Johnny stayed awake long after the others had gone to bed. His first night back at the station terrified him. He feared the dreams.

Of course they would come. Every night since the accident he had succumbed to the renewing horror of his dreamworld. At least in his apartment he experienced the dreams in privacy, but here, the others would hear his cries, would witness his terror. And even as he desperately hoped that perhaps he would sleep through the night without the nightmares, he knew he was fooling himself. Every night he had dreamed of the accident. Every night he had relived the sliding, tumbling vehicle, the flying sheet of tin, the girl…

Her face haunted him, day or night, asleep or awake. He would see her standing before him, whole and alive, and suddenly she would be bathed in blood, her body sagging to the ground, her golden hair stained crimson as her head slid away from her. And the expression on her face never changed—a shocked, almost unbelieving whimper on her lips, her eyes wide, with a hint of accusation. You killed me, she seemed to be saying. Your speed, your hurry, and now look. I'm dead. I'm dead!

He paced the kitchen compulsively, fighting the weariness that threatened to overwhelm his fear of sleep. Of course he would have to give in eventually. He could not live without sleep. He thought back to the time when he obsessed over the absence of night runs and could not sleep. If only…

He awoke with a jerk and realized that he was in his bunk. He didn't remember leaving the kitchen, and a new fear trembled in his innards. _I'm losing my mind!_

Staring at the ceiling, he forced himself to calm down. Breathing deeply and slowly, he felt his fear retreat somewhat, and without wanting to, fell asleep once again.

_The dream took on a somewhat different form this time, and in the strange world of visions, Johnny found himself wondering what surprise awaited him._

_As before, the girl stood before him, but this time her expression was joyful. She smiled broadly, almost laughing, her hands nervously playing with the hem of her shirt. She beckoned him with her eyes, and although her mouth moved, no words emanated from her lips._

_He cautiously moved toward her, hopeful that perhaps he had somehow misunderstood the previous events. And as he drew next to her and saw her vibrant face, he became certain that all had been a terrible dream. She was whole and unhurt, and his nightmare became a distant memory._

_But then everything fell apart. As he reached out to touch her cheek, she suddenly screamed. He jumped back, his hands raised to ward off the returning horror. No! he shouted. This can't be happening again! Not again!_

_He was driving down the 405. Cars and trucks stood all around, none moving. He drove faster, winding his way through the parked vehicles, while the girl sat next to him, her lips moving in silent supplication. He pushed the accelerator further, ignoring the girl, ignoring his own panic. Faster…faster…until the cars became mere blurs on the surreal highway. The Rover's engine screamed, and the girl screamed, and suddenly all the cars and trucks began moving, their drivers all with faces fixed in expressions of terror. Johnny tried to keep control of his vehicle, but it began to swerve, and then the abutment stood before him, and just as he was about to careen into it, everything stopped._

_He felt the seat fall away from him, and with a strangled cry he clutched at the girl beside him. But her body seemed to melt under his fingers, and then nothing remained of her except her head, lolling on the seat, splattered with blood, with the same surprised, accusing expression that he had seen too many times before._

_No! No!_

He fought his way awake, strangely aware that he had been dreaming but not quite convinced that he was safe. He sat up, taking in his surroundings, his hands grasping the sheet. The station. Of course. Slowly, slowly, his pounding heart returned to its normal rhythm, and his breathing settled. The trembling abated, and he lay back again, willing the sickness he felt in his gut to go away. He didn't notice Roy's silent observation of his panic and recovery, and he certainly wasn't aware that his partner nearly ran to the bathroom with him, if only to support him as he leaned over the toilet, throwing up in abject misery.

 

Johnny's new vendetta formed instantaneously, and although he would not have been able to identify its birth, he knew the moment he saw Vince that he needed to give life to his cause.

He and Roy had responded to a car accident, a clear case of driving too fast after a light rain. The combination of a slick road and a hurried driver had caused a spinout and a cracked telephone pole. The driver, spouting a continuous complaint of now being entirely too late to even attempt making his meeting, had emerged from the mildly damaged vehicle unhurt, and after refusing treatment for a minor cut on his brow, had proceeded to ignore the paramedics. Johnny's irritation quickly grew to outright anger.

"I don't believe this," he fumed to Roy as the latter silently replaced the equipment. "We got called out on an idiot. Wet roads, and he thinks he has the right to endanger everybody else because he's late for some meeting. Man, I just can't believe this! I mean, we could be helping someone who deserves our time, but no, we're stuck with this jerk."

Roy threw his partner his most patient expression. "So complain to Vince," he suggested.

Johnny snapped his fingers. "Good idea!" he said, already trotting over to the officer. "Hey, Vince!" he called.

The policeman stopped just short of climbing into his cruiser. "Johnny, what's going on?" he asked.

"Man, it's this guy. He's driving too fast on wet roads, and we're wasting our time coming all the way out here."

Vince shook his head. "I know what you mean. Some people just don't get it."

"But we've got to do something about it! He was obviously driving too fast. Can't you at least hive him a ticket? Make him think twice before driving so fast?"

"He wasn't witnessed by an officer. You know that, Johnny. Maybe we'll get him next time."

"But he was speeding!" Johnny persisted. "He's got to pay for that!"

Vince lowered himself into the police car. "Like I said, he wasn't witnessed. There's nothing I can do."

"But—"

Vince picked up his microphone. "Look, I don't like it either, but my hands are tied. There's nothing I can do!"

"Vince—"

"John, I've got a job to do." Vince looked hard at Johnny, then spoke into the microphone, requesting a tow truck.

Johnny stood speechless for a moment, then spun on his heel and returned to the squad. He heard Roy start to ask him a question, but he ignored his partner and flung himself into the cab.

A moment later Roy joined him. "What did Vince say?"

"Nothing. Not a thing." Johnny impatiently ran his hand through his hair. "What's the point, Roy?" he asked. "I mean, why are we even out here? People are going to speed and crash, and there's nothing we can do about it! So why do we even try?"

Roy watched his friend closely. "We do our job the best that we can, and most of the time we make a difference. Most of the time we help someone. You can't base your entire career on one problem."

Johnny was shaking his head. "Yeah, that's easy for you to say. You're on top of things. Your life is in order. You can sleep at night without—" He snapped his mouth shut and looked out the window, his heart pounding. Too close.

"Without what?" Roy questioned gently. "Nightmares?"

Johnny jerked but said nothing. Had he been seen?

Roy reached across the seat and patted Johnny's arm. "I—I know you've been having nightmares, Johnny. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to embarrass you."

"I suppose the whole station knows," Johnny mumbled.

Roy smiled. "No, not the whole station. Just me that I know of. But even if the guys knew, they'd want to help. You know that."

"I guess. It's just not that easy."

"I know it's not, but you've got to trust us. We've all worked together for a long time. We're all here to help each other."

Johnny felt his spirits inch upward. "Yeah, you're right," he replied, his smile genuine. "I've got a lot of friends."

Roy nodded. "All right, then. Let's get out of here."

 

"John. It's good to see you again."

"Yeah...well, I'm here anyway."

"I wasn't sure you would return on your own."

Johnny shrugged. "Force of habit," he said nonchalantly.

Dr. Gould smiled from his chair. "So how has this week gone? Any better?"

"Okay. Nothing to speak of. Well, actually, it's been…bad."

"In what way?"

Johnny fidgeted in his chair. "Well, you know…dreams and…stuff."

"Bad dreams?"

"Yeah, well, I mean, what do you expect?" Johnny slid forward in his seat, his hands clenching and unclenching. "I mean, after what happened…" His voice drifted off, and he leaned back in the chair.

"Do the dreams replay the accident?" Dr. Gould prodded.

Johnny tore his gaze from the floor and managed to meet Gould's eyes for the briefest of moments. "Yeah," he whispered at length.

Gould rubbed his chin. "You know, John, you never have told me exactly what happened at the accident."

"I know."

"You were on the 405, right?"

"Yeah."

"Where were you going?"

"Work."

"Okay. And did you witness the accident or—"

Johnny groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I caused it!" he blurted through his fingers. "Okay? Now you know! I caused the accident! A woman and her daughter are dead because I was in such a hurry!" He lurched to his feet, furiously fighting the tears and the sobs that pulsated so near. He turned his back on Dr. Gould.

"I was late for work," he said through clenched teeth, "and this woman wouldn't get out of my way, and I pressured her into driving too fast, and now she's dead."

"How did she crash, John?" Gould asked his patient's back.

Johnny's shoulders shook, and his voice broke as he answered.

"A—truck—in front of her. Lost a sheet of tin. Hit her car. She hit an abutment."

Gould stood up. "Wait a minute. I'm not getting this. You said a sheet of tin fell off a truck?"

Johnny nodded, no longer able to talk.

"So how is this your fault, John?" Gould asked gently, placing himself at Johnny's shoulder.

Johnny shook his head. "You don't understand," he said plaintively.

"Then fill me in, because I don't see how the woman's death was your fault."

"I made her drive too fast!" Johnny faced Dr. Gould. "I was driving too fast! If I had left her alone, she wouldn't have gotten behind that truck! She'd still be alive! And her daughter…oh God…" He again turned away from Gould, his emotions out of his control once more.

Gould waited for a few moments, allowing Johnny time to collect himself. When he spoke, he took care to keep his voice calm and even.

"Tell me about the daughter, John."

Johnny stiffened. "She's dead," he said harshly, his voice hoarse. "What else is there to say?"

"After the accident, you tried to help her?"

"I told you before that I did."

"Was she already dead?"

"Yeah."

Gould pondered a moment, then asked, "How did she die?"

Johnny looked at him. "What? How did she die? Her car hit the abutment."

"Was this your first DOA?"

"No. I've been to several."

"Did any of them cause you to fall apart?"

Johnny glared at him. "No!"

"So why this time?" Gould pressed. "I know you told me that her death was your fault, but why does her death bother you more than her mother's?"

"I don't know."

Gould studied him. "Okay," he acquiesced. "We're getting closer. We made a great deal of progress today, John. See you Friday."

 

"I told him."

Roy looked up from unbuttoning his shirt. Their shift had ended, and Johnny had entered the locker room with a simple nod in greeting, and had begun changing without a word until now.

"Who?"

"Dr. Gould." Johnny hung up his uniform shirt and reached for his own shirt. "I told him about the girl."

"Oh." Roy smiled encouragingly. "Well, that's good, Johnny. I'm glad to hear that."

Johnny paused as he pulled on his shirt. "I don't know if it was good or not," he said thoughtfully.

"You're doing the right thing. Now he can help you deal with it."

"I guess." Johnny began buttoning his shirt. "Y'know, we're all ignoring the real problem here."

"And what would that be?"

Johnny gestured toward himself. "Me. The bottom line is that I caused that accident. We can all pretend that the truck killed them, but I was the one who caused her to get behind it."

"What? Johnny, what are you talking about?"

"Just what I said. Gould doesn't get it, but I know. I killed those people." He spoke calmly, with an underlying element of rage, and Roy watched him with growing concern and confusion.

"Johnny, how could you have caused the accident? A sheet of tin—"

"Spare me, Roy," Johnny interrupted. "Everybody knows that I screwed up, but no one wants to tell me. Well, I know. Believe me, I know!"

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" Johnny moved closer to Roy, his face dark with anger. "Were you there, Roy? Did you see the accident happen? Don't forget, I was there! I know what happened!"

"So tell me!" Roy shot back. "Tell me why you caused it! I'd like to know!"

"You don't understand!"

"Try me!"

"I made her drive faster than she wanted to go!" Johnny finally confessed. "I pressured her, and she ended up behind that truck! It's my fault!"

Roy shook his head. "Johnny, I don't see that at all. You didn't cause the tin to fall off that truck, and you didn't cause the woman to hit the abutment! It wasn't your fault!"

"You're wrong!" Johnny exclaimed. "You don't know! I do!"

Slamming his locker door shut, he stormed from the locker room. Roy stood stunned and worried, wondering how much longer the nightmare was going to last.

 

His failure pounded at him continuously. Like a tolling bell that announces the end of time, he heard the warning. Again and again he relived each scene, once again discovering the decapitated body, once again seeing the lifeless eyes of the child, until they became a living dream that picked at his consciousness until he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to erase the nightmarish apparitions. Go away! He screamed in his anguish, leave me alone! I screwed up, I know, but I can't keep seeing it! I don't want to see that child again! I can't!

Blindly fleeing, he crashed through his apartment, his trajectory carrying him from room to room. Furniture and accessories made way before his fury, his shins became bruised and his hands reddened as he smashed them against the walls. But he couldn't escape the vision of the child's body, bloodied and mutilated, obscenely propped in the wreckage of steel, screaming at him in his dreams.

_Too fast! I was driving too fast! Why did I bother that woman? Why didn't I just wait for her to get around that truck? Stupid! What's the matter with me? And the little girl. Look what I did to her! And then I think that I can help her after what I did to her. What did I think I was going to do, resuscitate a body with no head? The high and mighty Gage, going to rescue a dead kid. Yeah, real good, Gage!_

"You idiot!" he shouted, pausing in his flight. "Why'd you even try? Trying to fix your screw-up. You screwed up then, and you're nothing but a screw-up now!" He furiously plowed through his apartment once again, this time ending with his fist pounding into the wall. The wall gave way, and he pulled his hand back from a crumbling hole.

"Son of a _bitch!_ " he yelled, holding his fist in his other hand. With a guttural cry, he whirled away from the wall, his fury needing release. He tripped over the coffee table leg, barely catching himself, and suddenly he saw the face again, mouth open in a shattered scream, lolling crazily under the car.

"No! I can't! I can't!" He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands, one bloody from burst knuckles, pressed against the sides of his head. "No more," he whispered. "I can't do this anymore. I can't…please help me. Roy…I need you." He staggered to the phone lying on the floor, its receiver buzzing. Pushing the button to close the connection, he then placed the receiver against his ear and listened for the dial tone. He stood thus for several seconds, one hand poised over the buttons, knowing the number he needed to dial but unable to carry out the act.

"Why can't I talk to him?" he whimpered into the buzzing receiver. "He wants to help me, but I won't let him." He slowly lowered the receiver onto the hook. "Roy, you're all I've got. What am I gonna do?" He once again stumbled through his apartment until he fell into his bed.

_He was running, his long legs carrying him with grace and speed, and he laughed at the sheer joy of running. Faster and faster, the wind roaring past his face, until he seemed to be flying._

_And then he saw the face. He tried to slow down, but his momentum carried him directly into the façade before him, and he was crashing into the bloodied, torn body, and the decapitated head with the lifeless eyes was hovering above him. He tried to scream, but the blood that still dripped from the severed head splashed on his cheeks and into his mouth, and he felt his mind shatter with an almost audible snap…_

"Ahhh!"

He didn't even realize he was screaming until his voice was raspy from the shock of sleeping terror that carried over into waking breathlessness. He clamped his mouth shut, as much to stop the cries as to prevent his teeth from chattering. Raw fear possessed his body, and despite his clenched jaw a strange whimper escaped his lips.

The phone was ringing. He automatically jumped up, conditioning conquering fear for the moment. He cradled the receiver in his hand, not picking it up but listening to each incessant ring, both cursing and blessing the interruption of his collapse. He picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" _What do you want?_ "Oh. I'm sorry. No, just a bad dream…Yeah, really. Everything's fine. Really…Look, I'm fine. It was just…Yes, I know it's happening every night…I'm sorry…I can't…No…" There followed a long pause, during which Johnny's face grew progressively darker. He finally exploded.

"Y'know, I don't need this shit! It's none of your fucking business what I do in my apartment, so kiss my ass!" He hurled the receiver onto the floor, with the phone following.

"Johnny!"

He whirled to find Roy standing in his doorway.

"Roy!" he sputtered. "What are you doing here?"

"I was checking up on you." Roy gestured over his shoulder. "You didn't lock your door."

"Oh." Johnny stood flushed and humiliated. "How…how long have you been there?"

"Long enough. I heard the conversation, at least your side of it." Roy looked away, unwilling to watch Johnny's embarrassment. "A neighbor?"

Johnny cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Next door."

Sighing in frustration and worry, Roy stepped in and closed the door. "Johnny, you've got to get some help," he started, avoiding eye contact. "I've never seen you like this. I mean, the language, the anger. This is not you. It's like…it's like the man I know has gone away and some stranger has taken his place. I want the old Johnny back."

Johnny clapped his hand to his mouth. His gut had begun to roll at the first sight of Roy, and he knew he would have little time to make it to the bathroom. He staggered through his littered living room, tripping twice before nearly collapsing in front of the toilet. Too overwhelmed to get back to his feet, he hung miserably onto the edge of the commode, vomiting over and over. He became vaguely aware of Roy's comforting hands around his shoulders, but he was unable to acknowledge his friend.

At last the retching stopped, and Johnny leaned back, exhausted. Roy fetched a washcloth, and after warming it under the faucet, handed it to Johnny, who wiped the sweat and spit from his face. Roy retrieved the washcloth, rinsed it under cold water, then watched as Johnny placed the cool cloth over his face for a few seconds.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks." Johnny tossed the cloth into the sink, then sank back against the wall. "Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have heard…that. On the phone. I shouldn't have said those things." He ran his hand through his hair. "Man, I don't know what happened! I don't talk like that! I just don't know what to do anymore."

Roy smiled. "Well, the first thing you might want to do is to apologize to your neighbor."

Even Johnny managed a smile. "Yeah. You're right." His smile vanished. "It's going to change, Roy. I can't deal with this anymore."

"I'm happy to hear that, Johnny. I really am."

Johnny started to struggle to his feet, quickly aided by Roy. They returned to the living room, where Johnny looked around with a rueful expression.

"I guess I made a bit of a mess."

"Just a bit."

"I'll have to clean it up."

Roy shook his head. "Not tonight, Junior. You're going to bed. I'll come by in the morning to help with this."

Johnny didn't protest. Too tired to do more than strip to his boxers, he fell onto his bed without touching the covers. Roy watched him for a moment before leaving the apartment, being sure to lock the door. He drove home hopeful that a corner had been turned.


	6. Chapter 6

Johnny awoke feeling incredibly drained and empty. He sat up on the edge of his bed, needing to go to the bathroom but almost too tired to walk the few steps to the toilet. As he stood in the shower a few moments later, he remembered the night before. The phone call, the furious exchange with his neighbor, Roy's unexpected appearance. Everything spinning out of his control, faster and faster, like a runaway merry-go-round, frenetic horses galloping out of their restraints.

No control. Falling. Faster and faster.

And then the face.

The blood, marring the serenity of the child's face, screams that only he could hear…

He practically fell out of the shower, panic-stricken at the returning vision. _It can't be happening again! Not again! Please not again!_

The knocking at his door jarred him out of his flight. Roy. He was here to help clean up.

Rapidly drying off, he then wrapped the towel around his waist and trotted for the door.

Roy smiled in greeting, his eyebrows raised at Johnny's appearance. "Nice outfit," he commented.

Johnny smirked at him. "Real funny, Roy. Come on in. I'll go put something on."

Roy started cleaning the living room first, righting the tipped table and picking up the strewn about newspapers and mail. Johnny joined him after a moment, and they quickly finished the room. Roy then led the way into the kitchen.

He stopped, shocked by the sight of the hole in the wall. Johnny also stopped, embarrassed.

"I suppose that's how you got those split knuckles," Roy observed dryly.

"Uh, yeah," Johnny said, glancing at his bruised hand. "It was an accident," he went on lamely.

Roy chose to ignore the excuse. "How about some coffee?"

"Yeah." Johnny fled to the stove, trying to hide his flushed face.

After coffee, the men worked in silence, neither knowing what to say to the other, and all too soon the apartment returned to its former condition.

Roy stood awkwardly at the door, wanting to say something more than see you later, Johnny. He wanted to say the words that Johnny needed to hear, but the muses remained silent. His partner smiled reassuringly.

"Thanks for coming over, Roy. I mean it."

"No problem. Listen, if you want me to stay awhile—"

_Yes! Stay! Talk to me. Maybe then I'll be able to ask you for help._ "No, that's okay. I'm sure you want to be with Joanne and the kids."

Roy frowned. "Well, if you're okay…" He drove home dissatisfied and worried, unaware that Johnny spent the next hour furiously pacing the apartment cursing himself.

 

Johnny purposely missed his next appointment with Dr. Gould and started his next shift at work with the strange feeling that everything he knew was about to fall apart.

Avoiding speaking to the others, he sat sullenly through breakfast, merely picking at his food. Part of him feared getting sick, but another part of him just wasn't hungry. He felt detached, as if he were about to faint…or die.

The first call of the day came soon after the table was cleared. The squad was called out to a minor injury, but afterward Johnny refused to ride in the ambulance with the patient. Roy didn't push the issue, but when they reached Rampart he was surprised when Johnny never entered the hospital. He got the supplies himself, then went out to the squad, halfway expecting it to not even be at the hospital.

Johnny sat in the passenger seat, never acknowledging Roy's presence.

"Hey," Roy began, climbing into the driver's side seat, "where were you?"

Johnny didn't even glance his way. "Out here," he stated.

"You could've at least come in for supplies."

"I don't want to go in there. They're always bothering me."

"What are you talking about?"

Johnny vaguely gestured. "Brackett. Dixie. Always asking questions. I didn't feel like going through all that today."

"Well, they'd probably be happy to see you, but I'm not going to argue with you."

"Whatever. Let's go."

Roy stared at his partner for a moment before starting the squad and beginning the drive back to the station. Neither man spoke on the trip back. They pulled into the bay, and even before Roy had put the squad into park Johnny had flung himself out and raced for the locker room. Roy sat for a moment, pondering his next move.

He really didn't want to go to Cap, but talking to Johnny had become something of a challenge. Debating briefly, he headed for the lockers.

He found Johnny sitting inside his locker, oblivious to everything except for the thoughts that had obviously occupied his mind. Roy stood silent, waiting for his friend to move, reluctant to begin another fruitless conversation. Finally deciding that inactivity was worse than the consequences of speaking, Roy approached, hoping his movement would jar Johnny out of his reverie.

It did. His dark-haired partner lifted his head expectantly, his expression accusatory.

"What?" he demanded.

Roy tried to smile. "I just wanted to talk."

Johnny looked away. "I don't feel like talking," he mumbled.

"But it might help—"

Johnny jumped to his feet and slammed his locker door shut. "You're not my boss, so leave me alone!"

"I'm not trying to be your boss!" Roy replied hotly, losing his patience. "But you're obviously having problems and it's my job to let you know!"

"No, your job is to leave me alone!" Johnny finished the brief exchange by storming from the locker room, and Roy, more angry than he wanted to admit, stayed behind, furiously trying to calm himself down before Cap saw him and started asking too many questions.

Outside, Johnny leaned against his Land Rover, unaware that his attempt to calm down was about as successful as Roy's. _What's wrong with me? Roy tries to help and I bite his head off. My best friend is going to turn his back on me…and it's all my fault. He just wants to help. Why can't I accept that? What's wrong with me?_

The remainder of the day found the squad called out to several minor situations, none of which taxed the skills of Johnny or Roy. Johnny fulfilled his duties with detachment, remaining quiet while in the squad and restricting his interactions to the patients. Roy watched his partner closely, not wishing to fan the flames of conflict but unwilling to endanger the well being of those depending on their skills.

Toward the late afternoon, Johnny became more and more impatient, glancing repeatedly at his watch and drumming his fingers as Roy drove back to the station.

"What's the matter?" Roy finally asked.

"Dinner."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"I'm cooking tonight. We're late."

Roy checked his watch. "It's only 4:30."

"It's late. I've got to get back."

Roy shrugged. "Well, we're on the way."

"Yeah, well, not fast enough." Johnny continued to drum his fingers, and Roy sighed as he turned toward the station.

"Ah, darn, I thought we might have a break from Gage's cooking tonight," Chet said from the couch, Henry on his lap. "Better call the poison control center."

Johnny glared at him. "Shut up, Chet!"

Chet grabbed his chest. "Oh, that sharp comeback! You've mortally wounded me!"

Roy stepped quickly to Chet's side. "Leave him alone, okay, Chet?" he requested quietly.

Chet looked up at him curiously. "Sure," he finally said, watching as Johnny hurriedly hauled out a bag of potatoes and dumped them on the table.

Roy also watched his partner for a moment, then discretely motioned for Cap to follow him from the room. They left without noticing the pained look from Johnny.

_They're talking about me. Roy knows I'm losing it, and he's telling Cap. I can't be relieved from duty! I can work this mess out, but I need to be with my friends. Please don't send me home…I've got to be here with you guys. I can't do this on my own._

A few minutes later, Cap and Roy returned to the day room. Johnny hazarded a glance as they came in, but neither met his look. _They're going to push me away! I knew it!_ He returned to the potatoes, peeling quickly, his uneasiness growing with each discarded piece of potato skin.

The men sat around the table, quietly talking amongst themselves. Johnny tried to ignore the soft voices as he rapidly began slicing the potatoes. He was sure that everyone was silently cursing him for taking so long with dinner, even though they all pretended to be paying him no attention. He finished the second potato and reached for the third. Sweat beaded his forehead. They were waiting for him to finish. Cut. Cut. Cut. Slam the paring knife through the flesh of the potato. Quickly. The klaxons could sound at any time. Cut. Cut. Through the flesh. Through the flesh…

"Ah…damn it!" he yelled, jerking his hand back. "I cut my finger!" he shouted at the gaping men. He hurled the paring knife across the table. "I cut my fucking finger!" Clutching his finger, he fled the room.

Chet was the first to break the uneasy silence. "Just a bit of an overreaction, wouldn't you say?"

Cap slowly got to his feet. His look at Roy was significant, and the paramedic knew that Johnny's outburst had been the last straw.

Roy found his partner sitting on the bench in front of the lockers, head down, elbows on thighs, hands dangling limply. Johnny had apparently forgotten about the cut on his finger that had provoked such a disproportionate reaction a few seconds ago, as blood from the wound dripped seemingly unnoticed onto the floor between the younger paramedic's feet.

"Hey, let me take a look at that finger," Roy offered.

Johnny's eyes raised to meet Roy's. "I just can't do it anymore, Roy," he said, his voice trembling.

"Do what?" Roy sat next to his friend.

Johnny seemed to be struggling with his words. "I—anything. Nothing. I don't know."

Roy sighed. The agony had to end. "Johnny, I want to help you. We all do. Will you let us?"

Johnny held up his blood-covered hand. "I'm bleeding," he choked. "Look what I did. I was going too fast, and I cut my finger off."

Roy carefully took hold of Johnny's hand. "No, it's all right. See, just a little cut. Doesn't even need stitches."

"Yeah." Johnny stared at his finger, watching the bright blood. "Blood. I just can't do it." He stood up and went to the sink. Roy stood by silently as Johnny washed the blood away. "I was going too fast," he murmured. "Trying to go too fast. That's what always happens, you know. Speed. Hurry, hurry. And the next thing you know you're dead."

Roy carefully approached Johnny, who was still absentmindedly running water over his finger. "Speed and carelessness are a dangerous combination, Johnny. You're right. But you need to…get over that accident. It happened, but it's over. I know you saw some terrible things there…I did too. But in our line of work we've got to know when to put away the memories. We've got to move back from it or we go crazy."

Johnny drew in his breath, and Roy immediately regretted his last statement. "You think I'm crazy?" Johnny hissed, withdrawing his hand from the water. He backed away from Roy. "Who are you to say I'm crazy?" he went on, his voice rising. "You think you know me? You think you know what's going on with me? You don't know shit!"

"John!" Cap stood in the doorway. "That's enough!"

Johnny whipped around, his expression that of a man caught in a crime. He mumbled some type of apology under his breath before slipping past Cap into the apparatus bay.

_I messed up big time, but maybe they'll help me. I just can't do this anymore._

"John?" Cap stood next to the squad, keeping a careful distance. Johnny nodded in acknowledgment. "See you in my office?"

"Yeah." _I'm in trouble now. He's going to relieve me of duty. But I need to be near them. They can't help me if I'm not here._ Johnny closed the door and stood waiting while Cap took a seat behind the desk.

Cap pursed his lips as he searched for the proper beginning. "John, I know you've been through a difficult time since that accident. Believe me, I understand. That's why I'm relieving you of duty for a time. I don't want to see your job performance get hurt. You're too good a paramedic for me to let that happen, so I'm stepping in now. Before this gets any worse. And I want you to go back to the psychiatrist. Keep going until you get over this." He paused, taking in Johnny's blank face. "We just want you to get better," he went on, his voice soft. "We're your family, you know. We're here to take care of each other."

Johnny suddenly felt he was about to cry. With every ounce of willpower he possessed he forced the tears to remain hidden, but he was desperate to get away. He had fully intended to argue against being relieved of duty, but his fragility kept him mute.

Cap studied him. He's going to cry, he thought. "Go home and rest, okay, pal? I'll make the appointment for you."

Thus released, Johnny managed a quick nod, then fled the office.

He drove home quickly, whipping through the traffic with angry determination.

_It's all a joke. A joke on me. I've screwed up everything now. My job…my life. Everything's screwed up, thanks to me. All because I was in such a rush, and I couldn't wait. Hurry, hurry, and now everything's wrong. Everything's wrong…_

He reached his apartment, but as he trudged down the hall to his door, the hopelessness of his situation pounded into him.

_I can't stay here. If I do, I'll sleep, and if I sleep, I'll have those nightmares again. I don't want to be alone. I can't be alone! Why did Cap make me leave? Doesn't he know that I need to be near them?_

_What am I going to do?_

_I wish…I was…dead…_


	7. Chapter 7

Once he started thinking about it, he found that he couldn't stop. The interminable night had only strengthened his convictions. What little sleep he had gotten had been filled with the most terrifying nightmares he had ever experienced.

He had woken up screaming at least three times, and the other times that he awakened were too confusing to know if he had actually cried out or had only dreamed that he was shouting. He had been certain that his neighbor would call to complain, but apparently their last phone encounter had convinced the man to stay out of the paramedic's business.

Toward dawn he stalked about the apartment, strongly tempted to once again trash the furniture but refraining this time. Another plan played too loudly in his mind; a plan that would permanently remove the nightmares.

He had struggled with the thoughts most of the night, but as the dreams had continued, he had found himself increasingly receptive to the comfort of…

Quiet. No more nightmares. No more visions of little girls with blood covered faces. No more guilt.

Only one chance remained…

He drove the familiar route without thinking or seeing. Somehow, some part of his brain assured him safe passage as he drove, but he was unaware of his progress—until Station 51 came into view.

The sight of the familiar station filled him with a wave of sadness. His home. It meant so much to him. And the men inside, too. They were his family. His throat burning, he pulled into the driveway and parked in his usual spot. They had kept it open for him. He nearly smiled, anticipating the warm presence of Roy, the teasing of Chet, the fatherly concern of Cap. His family. He opened the door of the station…and nearly cried out.

The apparatus bay stood empty.

They were gone.

Hopelessness. Nothingness. Emptiness. They were gone. No one to help him. No one to save him.

He ran back to his Rover, the engine starting with a roar. He tore from the station, his foot relentlessly pushing the accelerator, the vehicle picking up speed in the light traffic.

His vision blurred and he realized tears were filling his eyes. With a choked back sob he swiped at his eyes, then maneuvered even faster down the street.

He approached an intersection, the red light burning before his eyes. A red light. Heavy traffic traveling through the intersection. If he drove through the light he would almost certainly harm someone else. He desperately didn't want to hurt anyone. At the last possible moment he slammed on the brakes.

More tears drenched his eyes. The light changed, and he tore out as fast as the Rover's gears would allow. He wouldn't stop at the next light, no matter what.

The next intersection had a green light. He tore through, passing cars as he drove faster. Speed kills, he thought again and again. You've already killed your mind—now kill your body.

A red light. He sobbed as he sped toward it. Roy, help me—help the people that I'm about to hurt. Oh God let it be quick!

A car flashed in front of him. Instinctively he swerved hard. The Rover's tires squealed, protesting the hard turn, and Johnny fought to keep the vehicle under control. Cars swept past him, horns blaring, pieces of words emanating from open windows, the specter of destruction swishing by with each mass of steel.

Somehow he made his way through the intersection without a collision. His eyes nearly blinded by tears, he continued down the street, again pushing the accelerator toward the floor. Speed kills.

He found himself entering the 405. Faster and faster he pushed the Rover, until the engine screamed. His destination loomed in the distance like an idol; a pillar of concrete, already the scene of one sacrifice, now about to be splashed with the blood of a new lamb.

A little girl's face, serene and still, flashed before his eyes. Go back, it seemed to say. Don't do this.

But then a wave of blood flooded his vision, and with a horror-struck cry he realized that it was too late…

Frantic movement…noise…louder and louder. Over and over, tumbling, falling…falling…

Nothing…

White hot…piercing…pain! Pain! _I can't breathe…help me…_

He gasped for air…choked on his saliva…at last screamed when he drew in enough breath. Crushing…crushing weight…across his hips.

But even his scream was cut short by the agony. He gasped again, frantically trying to push the mass from his body. He knew nothing but the sensation that tore his body in two. Then he knew nothing at all.

 

"Squad 51, what is your status?"

Brice picked up the microphone. "Squad 51 available," he replied.

"Squad 51, motor vehicle accident with injuries on Highway 405…"

Roy felt his heart begin to race as Brice noted the location of the accident. The same spot as before. The accident that signaled the beginning of the end for his best friend. He pushed the accelerator harder, the thumping in his chest seeming to drown out the sound of the siren. He glanced in his mirror, seeing the engine close behind.

Another accident on the 405.

Johnny…

 

A voice. Calling. And then the pain again, returning with a force that tore sobs from his throat. He felt as though he were suffocating, as though he would never be able to catch his breath, and he frantically pushed at the mass that lay on his body.

He blinked through the tears and the blood, trying to identify the source of his entrapment. "Get it off…get me out," he whispered.

"Johnny? Can you hear me?" Roy's voice…somewhere. But this was what he wanted, Roy to his rescue. Roy to ask the right questions.

But it wasn't supposed to hurt so much. He cried again, his voice hoarse as he shouted out his agony. "Help me! Help me!"

Someone moved over him. He flailed his arm through the air. "Roy!" he gasped. "Are you there?"

Roy's voice, frightened and urgent. "Cap, we've gotta get this car off him now!" He felt his partner against his leg. "His artery may have been cut! Brice, help me cut his pants." He felt the scissors as they ripped into his jeans, and he knew that the material was being torn away and tossed aside.

"Roy…help me! Get it off!" Johnny's voice shook as he fought to keep from screaming.

"We're trying, Johnny. Just hold on." Roy's voice called over his head. "Be careful, Chet. The Rover's cutting into him. I don't know how deep…"

"Watch it!" Cap shouted. Roy jumped, startled as the Rover suddenly lurched back onto the trapped man. Johnny screamed as something stabbed him in the groin, and the blood that drenched his body began to flow in earnest.

"Shit! The artery's cut!" Roy snapped, his voice unable to hide his fear. "We've got to get him out now or he's gone!"

Somewhere beyond the agonizing pain, Johnny heard Roy's panicked words, and he felt the most intense fear he had ever experienced. He felt death.

Somehow, with superhuman strength, the firefighters were able to pull the Rover up enough for Roy and Brice to slide Johnny out to safety. The effort drove Johnny beyond what he could tolerate, and he blindly swung his arms, striking out in his agony.

"Hold him down!" Roy commanded, and Johnny felt new terror as his arms and legs were restrained. He felt hands pulling away the remainder of his jeans and boxers, and then something pressed hard into his groin.

"Where's the ambulance?" Roy choked.

"Coming now," Cap reassured him. "Hold on, Roy."

Marco arrived with a backboard, and the men quickly placed Johnny onto it, forcing themselves to ignore the raw screams of pain. Roy never moved his hand from John's artery. The men helped set Johnny onto the gurney, then they strapped his arms and legs down, knowing he could not be held accountable for his violent actions. Brice jumped into the ambulance, followed by the gurney and Roy, who still held onto the torn artery. Cap closed the doors, and they watched as the ambulance, siren wailing, swiftly left the accident scene.

Inside the ambulance, Roy and Brice fought to save Johnny's life. Knowing that Roy would be unable to move from his position at Johnny's hip, Brice rapidly set up the biophone and pulled out the BP cuff. Johnny cried out with every breath, still pulling at his restraints.

"Roy!" he gasped. "Please…give me…something…for the…pain! Please!"

"Johnny, I can't. You may have a head injury." Roy reinforced his grip. "Just hold on."

Brice inflated the cuff. "We'll be at the hospital soon, Gage," he said, his voice almost sympathetic. He pulled back after taking Johnny's blood pressure. "80 over 50," he stated, reaching for Johnny's wrist. "He's lost too much blood."

Roy shot him a withering glance. "Not if I can help it," he hissed.

Brice noted the pulse, then laid his hand on Johnny's rapidly heaving abdomen.

"Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read?" Brice spoke into the biophone with calm detachment, and for once Roy was grateful for the man's pure professionalism.

"Go ahead, 51."

"Rampart, we have a male, age 29, victim of a car accident. He has ruptured his femoral artery. We are attempting to pinch the artery, but the victim has already lost a substantial amount of blood."

"What are the vitals?" Brackett barked, his voice betraying his tension.

"Rampart, BP is 80 over 50, pulse is 120, respirations are 36.

"51, start two IVs, Ringers Lactate wide open, give oxygen 15 liters per minute, monitor the vitals carefully, and get him in here now. What's your ETA?"

Brice repeated the instructions, gave an ETA of five minutes, then, after placing the oxygen mask over Johnny's face, rapidly started the first IV. He took the blood pressure again, glancing at Roy with a frown.

"70 over 40," he said.

Roy once again reinforced his grip on the artery, forcing his cramped fingers to remain at their task. "I can't stop all of the bleeding," he said through gritted teeth.

"Please! Give me…something!" Johnny suddenly began to struggle anew. "I can't…take it anymore!" he cried. "Let me go!"

"Lie still!" Roy said urgently. "Johnny, you've got to lie still!"

Brice jumped into action, practically lying over Johnny to keep him from dislodging Roy's hold on the artery. "Gage, don't move!"

"Let me go!" Johnny pulled frantically at the restraints as he gave in to pain-induced panic. The oxygen mask made him feel as though he were suffocating, while horrendous pain wracked his entire body, and something held him motionless, unable to lift his head or move his arms or legs. "Help me!" he screamed, tumbling into madness. "Why can't…I…move? I…need…to…get…away…Oh God help me! Roy…"

Blood loss and pain finally overcame consciousness, and Johnny lay quietly as the ambulance backed into the emergency entrance.

Once inside Rampart, Brice stepped back as Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early joined the gurney. Roy, his fingers still clamped on the artery, stood on one of the support bars along the base of the gurney in order to maintain pressure.

It was with a sigh of relief that Roy was finally able to remove his hand from Johnny's leg. He moved out of the way, suddenly aware of a tremendous weariness that was not entirely due to his long exertion. Almost without realizing it he mentally toned out the flurry of activity, retreating to the painlessness of the unknown. Doctors and nurses flew around Johnny, attaching and inserting tubes with a precision that allowed Roy the luxury of letting go. He could let the medical staff worry now. His job as paramedic had been completed. Now his job as a friend would begin, and he was terrified of the prospect. He didn't want to think about how Johnny had gotten into this horrible state—not yet. But the speculation refused to be put off, despite Roy's best efforts to think of nothing, and when Dixie gently but firmly took him by the arm he allowed himself to be led from the room.

"How about a cup of coffee?"

Somehow Roy nodded and followed the head nurse to the lounge. Once there, Dixie poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him with a smile.

"He's in good hands, Roy," she said. "First yours, literally, and now here with the doctors." She laid her hand on his shoulder. "I've gotta go. I'll keep you informed."

Roy didn't know how long he sat in the lounge, and he didn't remember drinking his coffee, but when Dixie finally returned and told him he could see Johnny for a minute, he set down an empty cup.

He went into the room and simply stood, studying his sleeping partner. Johnny's entire body seemed to be bruised and scraped, a mute testimony to the destructive power of an out of control vehicle. A white sheet covered his midsection, hiding the emergency surgery that had been performed on his artery, and various IVs hung over his supine body, feeding his depleted blood supply. _I'm so sorry, Johnny. I just didn't know what to do for you. He wiped his face. I still don't know what to do._

Roy stayed for another few minutes, watching the regular breathing of his friend. He remembered the desperation of the accident, the terror in Johnny's voice, the feel of the spurting blood over his fingers as he attempted to pinch the lacerated artery. He recalled Brice's cold professionalism, and his own anger at the dropping blood pressure that told of his inadequacy.

_But I saved his life. He's going to be all right._

_Yeah. For now. What about when he speeds toward that abutment again?_

He listlessly returned to the lounge and called his wife.

 

"Johnny…can you open your eyes for me? Come on now. Open your eyes."

"Wha…?" He heard the voice, recognized the command, but he was so tired.

"Johnny, open your eyes. Come on. Let me see those eyes."

"No." Despite himself, he opened his eyes. Dixie stood smiling over him.

"There you go. How are you feeling? Any pain?"

"What?"

"Are you feeling any pain?"

Was he? He concentrated, trying to put some order to the various sensations he was experiencing. "Yeah," he finally croaked. "Some…pain…I think."

"Okay. We'll get you something for it. Dr. Brackett wants to talk to you, so can you keep your eyes open for me?"

Johnny had already started to allow his eyelids to droop. "No."

"Come on, Johnny. Try for me, okay? I'll be back in a minute with your pain medication, and I'll tell Dr. Brackett to hurry if he wants to see you awake."

"Ye-ah," he murmured, drifting away.

"Johnny? Dix said you were awake. Can you hear me?"

Why wouldn't they leave him alone? "What?"

Brackett's voice moved closer. "You're going to be okay, Johnny. You gave us quite a scare, but thanks to your partner, your artery has been repaired and we're making up your blood loss right now. It's some kind of miracle that Roy was able to keep hold of your artery, but you two are the ultimate team."

"Where's…R-Roy?"

"Waiting outside. He's been here since the accident. You owe him a lot. If it hadn't been for him, you would've bled out long before you got here. You also have a concussion and a broken pelvis. Neither is too serious, but you're going to hurt like hell for awhile. According to Roy, your truck was literally lying on top of you."

"Roy saved my life," Johnny whispered, his strength ebbing rapidly.

"Yes he did. Now it's your turn."

Johnny forced his eyes to open. "What?"

Kel leaned over Johnny. "You need to save yourself, my friend," he said, his tone brisk. "You know exactly what I mean."

Johnny shrank back from the piercing stare, filled with sudden dread. Dr. Brackett knew what he had done. That meant that the others also knew.

It meant that Roy knew...


	8. Chapter 8

He knew Roy was in his room, but he kept his eyes closed, fearing to look his friend in the face.

He didn't think he could ever face him.

The full impact of what had happened settled over him like a dark curtain. _I tried to kill myself! I can't believe what I did! It seems like an eternity ago that I was driving down the 405. And all of a sudden I was at that abutment…the same abutment…God help me! What am I gonna do?_

"Johnny? Are you awake?"

Roy's concern smashed into Johnny's consciousness. _He still cares about me!_

_Even after what I did!_

He opened his eyes and saw Roy hovering over him. His friend smiled at him.

"Hey, there! How're you feeling?"

"Okay," Johnny said, his voice a mere whisper of air.

"I was in earlier, but I don't think you were aware. You were still pretty out of it. Do you need anything?"

Johnny shook his head. "Roy…"

"Yeah?"

Johnny tried to speak, but his throat constricted, and he turned away. He felt Roy's hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Junior. Listen, I'll come back later. You get some rest." With a final pat on Johnny's arm, he left, not wanting to embarrass his partner by witnessing his tears.

Johnny managed to hold on until Roy left, then his face crumpled, and he wept. Fragmented memories flew at him, pecking at his psyche like demented birds…

The horrific sensation of rolling…crazily out of control…falling, pounding, scraping. The tremendous weight of what he now realized was his own vehicle lying on top of him. His clothing ripped, shredded, his blood spurting from his artery. He remembered being aware of bystanders watching as he was stripped of his jeans and boxers, and he felt new humiliation as he realized how he must have appeared. Screaming, crying, his face wet, his nose running, his bare skin slick with blood. The men he worked with holding his arms and legs down to keep him from further harming himself or others, watching him writhe out of control. His own partner forced to treat his grievous injury, forced to ignore the screams for pain meds, forced to wonder what had happened.

_I can't face him. Not after all this…_

"Johnny, Dix tells me that you're refusing your pain meds." Dr. Brackett frowned down on his patient. "Is there something I need to know?"

The injured man tried to force his breathing to slow, to concentrate on anything except the pain that wracked his body. "I—just—don't—want—anything," he stammered.

Brackett reviewed the chart. "Your vitals are horrible," he brusquely informed the paramedic. "Pain is hindering your recovery, and I'm not going to allow it. Now either you give me a real good reason why you shouldn't have morphine, or I'm going to force it on you."

Johnny eyed him. "You can't—force—me," he gasped.

"Can't I?" Brackett pulled out the heavy ammunition. "Based on your recent behavior, I can easily have you declared incompetent. Is that the route you're going to force me to take? Because I will—in a second."

Johnny looked away. "I just—don't—"

"Why?" Brackett interrupted. "You can barely speak through the pain. Why put yourself through this kind of punishment…" His voice trailed off as realization replaced confusion. "You're punishing yourself," he stated quietly. "Aren't you?"

Johnny could not answer, but his heaving chest moved even faster.

"Johnny, don't do this to yourself. I know you've been through the wringer, but please think about this." He paused, resting a warm hand on Johnny's shoulder, watching closely as his young friend struggled with pain and growing tears. "I'm going to have Dixie give you a shot," Brackett said gently. "It'll allow you to sleep—get some real rest. You'll feel better then." He smiled reassuringly, then left.

Johnny closed his eyes, not wanting Dixie to stay any longer than necessary, and when she came in to administer the shot, she did not attempt to get him to talk to her. Even if Kel hadn't filled her in, she would have recognized Johnny's fragility.

The next day Johnny awoke feeling rested and somewhat stronger. He had been moved to a regular room, and he was able to sit up in his bed for part of the morning. A friendly nurse brought him a light breakfast, and he managed to eat a few spoonfuls of cereal, but his stomach rolled so much he was forced to stop. Somehow he kept himself from losing the bites he had taken, but the mere sight of food made him nauseous, so he replaced the lid.

The door opened, and he sighed as Dr. Brackett walked in.

"Am I that unpleasant, Johnny?" Brackett asked, smiling.

"No...it's just me."

"Feeling better today?" Brackett inquired, picking up the chart and perusing it with a critical eye.

"Yeah."

Brackett looked over at him. "No more trouble over pain medication?"

Johnny shook his head. "No."

"Good. Now, let's tackle your eating."

"Doc—"

Brackett lifted the lid from Johnny's breakfast tray. His frown stopped Johnny's protest.

"Did you eat any of it?"

Johnny looked away. "Couple bites. Made me sick."

"Did you vomit?"

"No, I kept it down."

"But you've been vomiting on a regular basis?"

"Well...some."

"For how long?"

Johnny didn't answer, and Brackett gently asked, "Since the accident?"

"Yeah." Johnny took the napkin from his tray and wiped his face.

Brackett studied his patient. "Well, we'll see what we can do for that. Perhaps a liquid diet for a few days. In the meantime, I want you to get some rest." He patted the paramedic on the shoulder and left.

Johnny waited. He knew that Roy was on duty today, and he knew that he would almost surely be bringing someone into Rampart.

He was not so sure that Roy would come up to see him.

Shame coursed through him as he thought of his partner. Shame over what he had done on the 405. Shame over the way he had acted since. _I don't want to face him. I'm not sure what I'll say to him._

The afternoon turned into evening, and Johnny watched the light dim outside his window. _He's avoiding me. Not that I blame him. He probably doesn't know what to say to me. I mean, what do you say to a man who has just tried to kill himself?_

He heard footsteps outside his door, and just like every time he heard someone near his door, he turned to intently watch his door for movement. And at last he was rewarded. Roy pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Roy!"

"Hey, Johnny." Roy stood awkwardly at the door, obviously ill at ease. "I heard you're feeling better."

"Yeah, some." Johnny paused. "I'm glad you came," he said quietly.

"Well, Brice is getting supplies. I would've been by sooner but we've really been busy…"

Johnny pretended to believe him. "Yeah, I know how it is." He tried to smile, but it was painfully forced. "So how's it going?"

Roy shrugged. "Oh, you know. Brice is Brice." He paused, unable to look at his partner's bruised face any longer. He kept picturing the spurting blood, the panicked face. "Dix says you're going to be getting up in a day or so."

"Yeah, that's what they say," Johnny replied, desperate to say something that would not sound forced.

"That's good." Roy fidgeted, uneasy with his wavering emotions. He could feel his carefully concealed anger pushing its way to the surface.

"Johnny, I don't understand what happened," he said, and Johnny involuntarily flushed. "I mean, how did you...crash?"

"I had an accident," Johnny replied testily.

"Was it?"

"What?"

Roy's expression hardened. "Was it an accident?"

Johnny shifted uncomfortably. "Well, uh, yeah. Of course it was."

"So what happened? Did someone cut you off?"

"Uh—no. No one cut me off."

"You crashed at the same spot as that accident...Johnny, I don't understand."

Johnny's face reddened even more. "Roy…"

"Witnesses say you drove right for that abutment." Roy's voice, tempered with anger, sliced through Johnny. "Is that true?"

The injured man fiddled with the sheet. "I—I didn't know what else to do. I mean—"

Roy lost it. "Are you telling me that you ran into that abutment on purpose?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

The expression on Johnny's face stopped Roy cold. "My God, it's true," he whispered in horror. He stepped back, struggling for equilibrium. "I didn't want to believe it, but it's true." He wiped his eyes, reeling from the confirmation of a nightmare. "Johnny, why?"

Johnny lowered his head. "I—don't know," he lied. _Help me, Roy!_

"Johnny, I'm trying to understand this. God knows I'm trying. But you've got to help me here. Why didn't you just talk to me? Or anybody? We've all been trying to get you to talk to us. Why did you…" His voice choked, and anger once again coursed through his body. "Why did you try to kill yourself? All you had to do was come to me or Cap or Brackett or anybody! You nearly died out there! Do you realize that? You nearly bled out underneath your own car! Thank God nobody else was hurt! Did you even think about that? That you might kill someone besides yourself?"

"Roy, it—it wasn't like that—exactly." Johnny tried to break through Roy's anger, desperate for understanding. "I didn't really want to—to…" He couldn't continue.

"Are you saying you didn't try to kill yourself?" Roy's voice clearly communicated his confusion and disbelief.

Johnny's mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head.

Roy moved closer to him. "Johnny, I don't understand. You said yourself that no one cut you off. You just ran into the abutment. I don't know what definition you're using, but in my book that amounts to attempted suicide."

"I didn't mean for it to be like that!" Johnny burst out. "I tried to…to stop but it was too late!"

"So why did you try in the first place?" Roy exclaimed. "Explain this to me! Why did you crash into that abutment? Were you trying to kill yourself?"

"No! No…" Johnny's facade broke, and he clamped his hands over his face. "I don't know…I don't know," he cried, his voice muffled.

Roy clenched his fists in frustration. "Damn it, Johnny, you're not going to push me away again! I can't go on like this. You can't either!"

"I don't know what to do anymore!" Johnny cried. He could feel his grasp on his emotions slipping, and in desperation he shoved his tray away from him, sending the contents flying onto the floor.

"You've got to face it!" Roy shouted. "Why don't you just admit that you've got a problem?"

"Don't you get it? I've tried! I can't do it anymore!" In a move that shocked even himself, Johnny yanked the IV from his arm.

Both men paused, regaining control with almost visible effort. Roy pushed the call button, then, wadding up a tissue, put pressure on Johnny's bleeding arm. Neither said a word until Dixie entered the room.

She looked with surprise at the loose IV and scattered items from the tray. "Johnny?"

"An accident," he said quietly.

"I see." She wiped his arm, frowning. "You've really torn your arm."

"Yeah."

Roy backed away. "I'd better go," he said apologetically.

Dixie caught his eye. "Kel," she mouthed.

Roy nodded, then left.

He found Dr. Brackett reading a chart in the hall, and in a few words related what had happened.

"I gather Johnny didn't care for what you had to say to him," Kel said sardonically.

Roy shook his head. "I thought I was getting through to him. The problem is that I got mad at him. I just—I can't believe that he tried to—hurt himself. I guess I got carried away."

"This may be exactly what he needed. Something to jar him out of his denial."

"He was starting to talk," Roy agreed. "Until I pushed too hard."

Kel smiled. "You just keep on pushing, Roy. In the meantime, we'll work on him while we have him at the hospital. One way or another, Johnny's going to know that we're here for him."

 

Roy sat brooding, absentmindedly watching the TV but not seeing anything. He was dimly aware of the kids noisily playing in the other room, and he vaguely heard the phone ring, but he couldn't move out of his reverie.

"Roy, phone," Joanne called from the kitchen. "It's Dixie at the hospital."

He wrenched himself out of the chair and went to the phone.

"Hey Dix. What's up?"

"Roy, can you come on by for awhile?"

"Uh, well, yeah, I suppose so."

"Good. Plan on spending some time here. Our friend is going to need some support just about the time you get here."

"Oh. I see. Yeah, I'll be there in a couple minutes."

Dixie hung up the phone. Part one was under way. Now for part two. She headed resolutely to Johnny's room.

The young man was sitting in a wheelchair, although by his haggard expression Dixie knew he would soon need to return to his bed.

"Hey there, handsome. How are we feeling?"

Johnny merely looked up at her.

Dixie folded her arms. "It's polite to answer a question," she observed.

"Fine," he mumbled.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it, because whether you believe it or not, life is pretty good."

Johnny fixed Dixie with an expression that bordered on disrespect. "Sure, Dix," he said.

The nurse chose to ignore his attitude—for the moment. "I know that it's been a long, dark time for you, but the light has never left the end of the tunnel. The problem has been that you've been stalled at the dark end. It's time to walk to the light."

She watched Johnny closely as she spoke, seeing the anguish break through his eyes, the brightness that bespoke tears.

"Johnny, you have so many friends, and we are all standing by just waiting for the word." Dixie tilted her head, waiting for Johnny to speak.

He did try, but one glance into Dixie's eyes took away his resolve, and he merely swallowed.

Dixie's temper got the better of her. "John Gage, you listen to me. I happen to know that your best friend in the world is torturing himself trying to figure out just what it is that you need right now, and I'm not going to stand for it anymore. Now you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and start thinking about everybody else. I know that I, for one, am getting pretty tired of this guessing game. So before everybody else gets tired of it, you'd just better decide what you're going to tell Roy. He's on his way over to see you, and I expect you to spill your guts to that poor guy before he ends up in here with his own nervous breakdown. Got it?"

Johnny stared at her, his mouth hanging open. "Uh, yeah," he finally stammered.

"Good!" Dixie shook her finger at him. "Don't let me down, Johnny. I care too much about you and Roy to let this go on any longer." With a final shake under his nose, she left the room.

 

Roy arrived at Rampart, uneasy and pessimistic. He made his way to Johnny's room, wondering if the nightmare was about to be over.

Johnny sat in his wheelchair facing the window. The late afternoon sun made the room almost uncomfortably bright, but Johnny stared into the light, seemingly unaware.

Roy stood in the doorway, unsure what to do next. "Johnny?"

He saw his friend start, then laboriously turn the wheelchair to face him. Roy was struck by the tear-stained face that pleaded for him to understand, and he fervently hoped that he would have the answers that Johnny so desperately needed.

"I'm here," he said, his meaning deeper than the mere words.

Johnny's face crumpled into new tears, and Roy, at last allowed past the wall that had been so carefully built for so long, stepped into the inner sanctuary. Johnny's private torment lay bare before them, opened ever so slightly to allow Roy's healing words and touches. One wept copiously and without restraint, while the other held on to him, speaking the soft reassurances that were so needed.

At long last Johnny calmed himself. Now embarrassed, he turned away from Roy while wiping his face with several tissues. Roy, understanding, pretended to be engrossed in rearranging the items that littered Johnny's tray.

"Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Roy smiled his first genuine smile in a long time. "Hey, that's what I'm here for," he said.

Johnny looked up at him pensively. "You've tried to help me ever since that first accident."

Roy nodded, slightly tense. "Yeah, I have, but you weren't ready."

"I'm not sure…" Johnny coughed. "I may not be ready now. It's so hard…" His voice trailed off.

"Johnny. Look at me." Roy waited for his friend's compliance. "I am here for you now and whenever you need me. If you need me for a hundred years, I'll be here. I can't say what shape I'll be in in one hundred years," he added with a grin, "but I'll do my best. That's all I can do."

Johnny finally managed a small smile. "Okay."

"These last few weeks have been hell, but we're going to get through them. It's going to get better. I promise. Do you believe me?"

The younger man sniffed, his eyes bright. "Yeah," he said. "I do." He grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose. "I, uh, I guess I owe you an explanation," he said after a time.

Roy stifled a relieved sigh. "I would like that, yes."

"You might want to pull up a chair."

"Sure." Roy sat down and waited expectantly.

Johnny fidgeted nervously. "It was that accident. It—it tore me apart. I—" His voice broke, and he rapidly wiped his eyes with the tissue.

"Roy, every time I close my eyes I see that girl. Every time. I just can't take it anymore." He stopped, his emotions too fragile to continue, and Roy gently placed his hand on Johnny's shoulder.

"It's okay, Johnny," he said softly. "Take your time. I'm here for the long haul."

"And so am I, if you're ready."

Johnny and Roy both jumped at the words, then Roy smiled to see Dr. Gould in the doorway, Dixie at his side.

"Dr. Gould just happens to be on call today," Dixie explained. "So what do you say, Johnny?"

Johnny searched the faces of his friends, and of Dr. Gould, who suddenly didn't seem to be the enemy. "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm ready."


	9. Chapter 9

Through Dixie's influence, Johnny's room at Rampart was assured complete privacy, with only a push on the call button bringing anyone in. The door was closed, and inside Johnny sat up in his bed, facing his partner and his psychiatrist.

Johnny had requested that Roy be allowed to stay, and Dr. Gould had readily agreed, recognizing the close bond between the men. He also knew that Johnny would need all the support he could get.

"John, the time has come. You must be completely open and honest, and while this will be painful, the result will allow you to finally heal. Are you ready?"

Johnny swallowed. "I guess," he said.

Dr. Gould leaned forward. "Go back to the accident. I know that you believe that you, at least indirectly, caused it because of your pressuring of the woman to drive faster. We have already addressed part of that issue. What we need to do now is to look at the little girl." Gould paused, noticing Johnny's immediate tension.

Roy watched, transfixed. Gould had asked him to sit near Johnny, to the side of the bed out of the direct line of vision. There, he was close enough to touch his friend without interfering in the flow of memories.

"The little girl," Gould continued. "You have said that she was already dead when you got to her. I asked you before how she died, and you didn't give me a direct answer. Today is the time when you face what happened to her." He sat back, waiting for Johnny to begin.

Her face appeared before him, smiling gently, golden hair waving as though caught in a light breeze. He blinked hard, but the face remained, and he prepared himself for the horrific transformation.

"I see her," he whispered, his eyes flooding with moisture. "She's beautiful, but she's going to change."

"Why does she change, John?" Gould inquired, his voice barely audible.

"Because…of what I did to her." Johnny choked back a sob. "She shouldn't have died."

"How does she change?"

Johnny felt the first tears slip, and he quickly swiped them away. "Blood. Everywhere. Her head…her head…oh God…" He stopped, unable to speak for several moments. Gould waited, watching as Roy silently held a box of tissue toward his friend. Johnny pulled out a handful and wiped his face.

"What happened at the accident, John? You said before that you tried to help the girl, but she was already dead. What happened when you tried to help her?"

Johnny lowered his hands from his face. "I can't—"

"Yes, John. You must remember. This is the only way you can heal."

"Doc, please—" He again wiped his face, his breathing rate increasing as he felt a growing panic. "I can't do this!"

"Tell me, John. You can do it. What happened when you tried to help her?"

Johnny glanced at Roy, who had moved closer to his bed in his concern. "Roy," he gasped, having difficulty catching his breath.

Roy reached out to touch his arm. "Slow your breathing down, Johnny. You're hyperventilating. Take deep, slow breaths."

Johnny tried to accommodate his partner, but suddenly the vision of the girl forced its way into his consciousness, and he was assaulted by a bath of blood.

"No!" he cried, involuntarily flinching backward with his hands raised. "I'm sorry! Please…"

"What happened to the girl, John?" Gould broke in relentlessly. "What did you see?"

Roy stood up, half expecting Johnny to pass out from lack of oxygen. "Johnny, breathe! Come on, now. Take deep breaths." He turned to Dr. Gould. "We need to stop this. He can't handle it."

Gould frowned. "Roy, he needs to face it. I know it's difficult, but he's never going to recover if we don't go through this."

As the men spoke, Johnny managed to calm himself a bit, and he placed his hand on Roy's arm.

"It's okay," he said breathlessly. "Just give me a minute."

"Take your time," Roy told him. "Everything's okay."

The trio sat for perhaps five minutes, Gould unobtrusively watching his patient, Roy also trying to observe without being obvious, and Johnny staring down at his hands, his chest still heaving, his eyes still filling with tears. It was Johnny who signaled a return to the session by sighing heavily.

"Ready, John?" Gould asked.

"No," Johnny replied, but his expression indicated that he knew he had to continue.

"Okay, now let's go back to the girl. You said she was bloody. Was she thrown from the vehicle?"

A sharp intake of breath indicated Johnny's torment. "N-not exactly," he stammered.

Gould pursed his lips as a sudden scenario presented itself. "The tin that flew from the truck. Did it hit the little girl?"

Johnny gasped. "I can't…Doc, this is so hard."

"I know it is, but you have to go through it. You have to face what happened. Did the tin hit the girl?"

One sob broke from Johnny's throat. "Yes," he whispered.

"Did the tin mutilate her?"

"Yes…" Johnny answered automatically, not bothering to staunch the tears.

"Was she decapitated, John?" Gould asked softly.

Johnny nodded, his shoulders shaking.

"And you tried to help her?"

"I didn't know…what had happened. I couldn't see…" Johnny spoke through ever increasing sobs. "I thought…I could help her…I didn't know…"

He stopped, grabbing more tissue, but Gould pushed further.

"So then what happened? After you found out she was decapitated?"

Johnny stared at him, then shook his head. "No…" he whimpered.

"You're almost there, John. What happened next?"

"Doc, I can't do this!"

"Face it, John! You're strong enough to get through this, and we're here for you."

Johnny took a deep, shuddering breath. "I…kinda…lost it. I fell…against the car."

"And?"

Johnny covered his face with his hands. "Her head…oh God! It was under the car! I didn't know! I didn't know it was there! I touched it! I didn't know!" He collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably, and Roy, almost as overwhelmed, stood next to him, his own eyes tearing, his arm laid across Johnny's shoulders. Dr. Gould also stood and approached Johnny.

"It's okay, John," he said. "You've done it. You've got it all out. I know it hurts, but now you control the dreams. You control the memories. Now that you have faced your nightmares, you can work on understanding that the accident wasn't your fault."

Johnny slowly managed to compose himself, and after several minutes he looked up. "But…I couldn't help her…"

"You tried, though," Gould said, leaning forward in his chair. "You gave your best effort. You did everything you could to help her, and if she had had any chance at all, you would have been a part of her rescue. But it just wasn't meant to be. Sometimes we just have to accept that."

Johnny pulled the last of the tissue from the box. "I guess…I think I understand," he whispered hoarsely.

Gould patted him on the shoulder. "That's the beginning, John. Now that you've faced the accident and the aftermath, you can work on your understanding of the whole picture. You've been trying to swim upstream against the memories, but now you can swim with the flow. We'll continue to meet, but once your hip heals up, I think you'll be back to work."

Johnny caught Roy's eye, and his partner's encouraging smile seemed to herald the beginning of new healing. He smiled through his tears. "That sounds real good, Doc. Real good."

 

Johnny stood in the shower, his face raised to the warm water pelting his skin, and for the first time no unbidden image of a bloodied girl appeared.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his healing body, blotched purple and yellow. He touched the scar in his groin where his blood had spurted uncontrollably. He shifted his weight and felt a twinge from his hip.

And he smiled.

Roy had called last night, inadvertently awakening his friend who had dozed off on the couch. They had chatted about incidentals for a few minutes, and then Roy had zeroed into the purpose of his call.

"Tomorrow it is then," he had said.

"Yep. Tomorrow."

"It'll be okay, you know."

"I know."

"The guys are looking forward to seeing you."

Johnny had sighed through his smile then. "Roy, I'm okay. Really. It'll be good to be at the station again, if only for a visit."

"Yeah. Well, I'll be by to pick you up. Ready for those early hours again?"

"No, but I'll be waiting."

He turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. His body still ached as he leaned and bent to dry off, but each day was better. He yawned. A nightmare had awakened him, and he'd taken a while to drift back to sleep. He hadn't had a nightmare for three days, so he figured the stress of returning to the station had brought it on.

Although he wasn't officially returning to work for another week or two, he had requested permission to stay at the station for the shift. Kind of getting back in the saddle before he really needed to. Besides, he was about to go crazy just sitting in the apartment with nothing to do but stare at the TV. At least at the station he could share in the camaraderie of his friends. And Roy could always use some help with the log if they could beat Brice to it. He smiled. Even Brice would be good therapy for him.

After dressing, he headed for the kitchen. The coffeepot stood ready; he'd turned it on before his shower. Coffee and toast with a little butter awaited him, along with a vitamin. The vomiting had basically stopped, but he was still plagued by recurring nausea. A bland diet with vitamins was all he could handle for now, but he was beginning to be tempted by spicier offerings. Soon enough.

He'd just finished his toast when he heard Roy's knock. He went to the door, limping slightly as he made his way through the living room.

Roy came in and grinned at his partner. "You look good! No more cane?"

Johnny held up his arms. "Nope. I can walk with the best of 'em now. Well," he allowed as his balance wavered, "almost the best."

The senior paramedic shook his head. "It's amazing," he said somberly. "I mean, if you'd asked me a month ago…well, I don't even want to go back. But it is amazing."

Johnny looked at him. "Roy, I wake up every morning with that very same thought. It's hard to believe that I almost…" He cut himself off, blinking and swallowing. "Well, you know," he said, his voice thick.

"I do." Roy patted his friend on the shoulder. "Come on, partner. Time to go to work!"

"You bet, pally!" They both paused awkwardly, then left the apartment.

 

Three days after Johnny's return to work, the station was called out for an accident on the 405. Roy and Cap both tensed when they heard the location, and Johnny hesitated ever so slightly before climbing into the squad. The accident involved two cars, one of which lay upside down. Vince met the paramedics.

"They were speeding," he said, regret in his voice. "No one survived in this car," he went on, gesturing to the upturned car. "But the other—"

Johnny didn't wait for more. He sprinted to the crushed vehicle, his heart pounding, his mouth dry. He heard his own voice whispering, let me help someone…let me help someone…please…

An elderly woman sat in the driver's seat, a seat belt across her lap. She turned to Johnny, her eyes wide with fear.

"My granddaughter," she cried, fluttering her hands in the direction of a girl in the seat next to her. "She's bleeding! Help her!"

Johnny felt his stomach lurch. A young girl, slumped unconscious, her blond hair stained with blood that oozed from a large laceration on the side of her head.

_She's just like the other girl…the other girl…_

"Johnny?" Roy's voice broke through his thoughts like a beacon of sanity. "You okay?"

Johnny looked up to see his friend's face searching his own. _I won't let him down._ "Yeah, I've got her." He reached through the window and probed the girl's neck.

"She's got a pulse!" The jubilation in his voice caught Roy's attention, and he met his partner's brief smile. "She's alive," Johnny said, and the partners both knew that the road to recovery had just surmounted its first hill.

The End


End file.
